_{Written listening to the song: Lifetime by One direction. My heart feels a tumult, one that weighs and feels like a big sandbag causing immense heaviness. The world consumes, yet I still want to love you.}

Anastasia, that perhaps is the name of the woman who has captivated my whole being, no, it is that simply, my being is not only this. I fell in love, I fell in love like crazy with her. I still remember how with her beautiful hands, and with a brush full of painting she created a universe on a canvas, over and over again until she made my whole body shudder. This seems to be a nauseating feeling, one that is driving me crazy.

Madness? Yes, apparently I'm so crazy that I've fallen in love with my friend, forbidden? Everything in my world has been forbidden. In my own ravings the only thing I can do this time is to have a simple cup of coffee, and send everything to simple shit.

"Sometimes feeling this way is so suffocating." "Do you believe me? Or, do you hate me?"

My emotions seem like a runaway train, one that can't stop and at any moment could crash. If I can't stop this, if I can't stop this overwhelming feeling, can anyone stop me? Can anyone help me? How can I stop loving her?

This seems like a nightmare, rather, my doubts are the same restlessness that undermines my soul and peace of mind. Shit, shit, and shit! I look like a teenager once again.

Among the enigma itself there is a specter, that specter is demarcated by my doubts. The sky on this frigid night, is so clear and I feel as if I see Anastasia Covered in clouds in my dim imagination. How foolish, I am recreating something that is not, that will not be and that I must leave in the deepest part of my past.

The note of the music keeps playing, it's as if every word of it drives a stake through my chest, over and over again. The drops of blood don't come out, should I open the Cellar door? Maybe there, I can find something to be able to avoid this anguish and cure this disease.

"Is love a disease?"

It smells like coffee, I forgot I left the coffee pot on. What a fool I am as a man, how simple and imbecilic, after all it was she who did this every night for me. My sweet, my sexy, my beloved forbidden friend for my hands.

Every night I watched from afar, every night I saw her smile, and how she touched her beautiful hair, I wanted to get closer, to get closer to steal a kiss from her. Sometimes we get carried away by our desires, sometimes our instincts move without us thinking very well or rationally.

"On the blackboard in the kitchen it says: Eureka!, how strange!"

Did I lack rationality? Most likely, the only thing I can say is that I lost Anastasia, or she simply left me.

The packaging has fallen, all the coffee is spilled on the floor, I bent down and what a fool the tears started to fall. If only I hadn't insisted, if only I had stopped that night and if only I hadn't said that word.

A deadly word, a word that would make my paradise turn into hell. From a distance you can see tool shed of the house and, it seems, the lamppost next to it is blinking. what does it matter! It was in that very spot that I foolishly went up to her, and kissed her.

That night the mist surrounded us, the cold ignited our bodies and perhaps the steam was coming out of our mouths in desperation. I overdid it, yes, I got carried away by what I felt.

"Who lost on that occasion?"

This love that would cause my agony, and the dread of having to see her in that way, that way, that has robbed me of everything. Everything has been extinguished, everything has been deprived and at the same time this ascended to become the very doom.

"She ran away, she ran away and cried out that I could not be her love."

"You see, because I am a fool."

It's all like a bullet, one that has killed me without even being able to have one more last time to have some coffee with her.

The worst, the worst of all is that my hands were stained red, a red that comes from her blood. It hurts, because I was the only one to blame for this, if I hadn't kissed her, if I hadn't told her that I loved her that day, she, she wouldn't have crossed that street, I mean, Anastasia might be alive.